


Sailors Beware

by orphan_account



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Canon Era, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-10
Updated: 2017-01-10
Packaged: 2018-08-20 12:55:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 19,635
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8249858
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: (WORK ON HIATUS)At the bottom of the ocean floor is a world unknown to mankind. Here, sirens swim freely among the sea creatures. The world is lovely, but how one arrives there is more of a horror story than just simply entering utopia. Sailors beware, for a siren's song is beautiful, tempting, and dangerous.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> READ: Sailors used to be very superstitious. If a man were to kill a sea bird (an albatross) or cut his hair/beard, he brings bad luck to the ship. A red sunrise indicates a bad sailing day. People who did these things were chained, then thrown overboard.

### 1597 C.E.

John Laurens wakes to a loud bashing noise on his cabin door, one far too piercing for his newly awoken senses. Immediately, he bolts out of his bed with his hands clenched into fists in a form of half-asleep defense. Silence follows the horrifying noise. It is too silent, an eerie silence, a silence that is louder than the banging on his door. John looks around his cabin room that he shares with his shipmates only to find each bed empty. The blankets are strewn about and the pillows are not fluffed. There is a lone, half-tied shoe that someone had forgotten on their way out the door thrown haphazardly onto the cold, wooden floor. A rattling noise outside brings John’s attention back to his door. Another bang, seemingly out of place in the quiet of his room. The waves are calm and the boat seems to be at a standstill.

His door flies open and he startles. “Him, it is him who has brought this upon us! The sky bleeds for his actions! The killer of the albatross! The one with no beard!” A surly man with tattoos coloring his neck screams to the men behind him. A chain is swinging from his strong hands; the chain seems to be lurching itself towards John, swinging faster and faster as the seconds pass. John does not know this man, he has never seen him in his time working on The Kingfisher. “Three days the sun has bled, and for three days he will sink!” The men all run towards John at the same time, trapping him against the wall of his cabin.

John looks around frantically at the men shoving him into the wall. A fiery punch lands on his jaw and he stumbles into one of the men. “Stop!” He cries as the man grabs him by his shoulders. “Why are you doing this?” He struggles against the man’s firm hold, but to no avail. John turns to catch a glimpse of his tormentor and his breath catches in his throat. He knows nearly none of these men, but he would recognize the wise eyes of his friend Lafayette anywhere. “L-Lafayette? What-“He is cut off by the surly man whipping his side with the chain. The chain wraps around his torso and he hisses out a breath. He looks back at his friend with tear-filled eyes, “Why are you doing this?” He groans. Lafayette’s mouth is in a firm line and he does not speak. He looks away from John as if he had not spoken to him at all, but his eyes are equally as shiny. Lafayette pushes him towards the surly man and he gasps, tripping over his own feet slightly.

The man grabs him by the neck and there’s a deafening cheer from the room as he replaces his hand with the chain. John tries to choke out a cry for help, but it comes out as nothing more than a whisper. “This man offends our ship and he offends our honor!” Yells the man. The crowd around him grows silent as they listen attentively. “And for that, this man will suffer the consequences that he has tried to bring upon our ship! This bringer of bad luck - this _disgrace_ -shoots down the albatross for their feathers. And for what? For some nappy accessories? For this, the sun is red, and red it has been for three days! The bad luck this man brings to our glorious ship will sink us all in three days’ time.” The man is cut off by the crowd yelling in protest, foreign cries that John cannot understand. John tries to find Lafayette with his eyes, but he has gotten lost in the commotion of the crowd.

“SILENCE!” The man yells, spit flying out and onto John’s face. John grimaces and moves his head away, only causing the man to pull the chain tighter around his throat. A hoarse gasp escapes John as the men fall quiet once more. “With the offender, we will sink. Without the offender, we will make it to land in seven nights.” The man looks around the room wisely, locking eyes with his men who nod knowingly. John tries to coax words out of his throat, something that will defend him but all that comes out is a long hissing sound. Suddenly, Lafayette pushes his way to the front of the crowd and John’s eyes light up with hope. Lafayette, his best friend on this ship, is here to save him! John tries to lock eyes with him, to thank him, to plead with him. But, Lafayette does not look at John.

“Sir, it is ready,” Lafayette says solemnly to John’s tormenter. That is when John notices the second chain hanging off of Lafayette’s sword. This one is thicker with a strange orange shine to it. Heat, John realizes, the chain is burning hot. John struggles against the chain again and the man slaps him hard across the face. The slap lands on the blossoming bruise from the earlier punch and John wheezes in pain. Lafayette slowly places the chain on the splintering floor of the cabin and turns to walk back into the crowd. John manages to catch his eye and he could have sworn he saw a tear manage to make its way past Lafayette’s façade.

Another deafening cheer rises from the crowd and the man harshly tugs on the chain and leads John out of the room. John stumbles along backwards, unable to see where he is going but watching as a man takes the fading orange chain with his sword and leads the crowd behind the man. The orange chain swings, taunting him and hissing. Orange, like the colors painting the red sky. John gasps and croaks all the way to the ship’s deck.

The chain is suddenly ripped away from John’s throat and he sucks in a breath, coughing and spluttering as the much-needed air hits his lungs. The man harshly shoves John to the edge of the ship. John shifts his gaze from side to side, as his neck is too sore to move, hopelessly looking for a break in the crowd to run through. John winces, even if he could get through the crowd, where is there to run in the middle of the ocean? He looks out to the sunrise and the traditional mantra runs through his head, “Red sky at night, sailor's delight; red sky in the morning, sailors take warning.” It is true that the sunrise had been a bright crimson for three days now, but John was not a superstitious man. He had shot down the sea birds, but he had done so with reason. He crafted with the feathers for the ones he loved back home. Even through all of this, John does not cry. The most he can do is prepare himself for what comes next, he has seen this happen enough times though he had never taken part in the affair.

“Chain him.” The man orders. John can hear his heavy footsteps walk across the old floorboards. Then, the lighter footsteps of two more men creak their way towards him. Not breaking his eyes from the painted sunset, he holds his hands behind his back before they order him to. If he had to see one last thing, John decides, it wasn’t going to be a group of dirty men through blurry vision. The men roughly grab his wrists and John stumbles backwards slightly, but not enough to fall. He is going to go with dignity. The men chain his hands together tight, too tight. He presses his lips together and wills away tears. Tears that he has managed to suppress until the digging of the metal reminded him of his reality. Next, a burning sensation hotter than the sun he saw digs into his calves. He yelps as the scorching chain sears through his trousers. This is when the tears he had been so set on keeping in begin to fall.

The red hot heat has him struggling to break away, but the firm hands of the men keep him in place. “Please,” he whispers, but no one seems to hear him. The chains are set and locked. Instead of answering his plea, one of the men call out, “For The Kingfisher!” This is followed by the rest of the men yelling something similar, but there was no way to tell if they all yelled the same thing or not. John looked at the sunrise once more, the dancing blood stains weaving their way around the clouds, and is pushed overboard.

He hits the water with a splash. The orange water soars above him as a sendoff. Sinking, sinking, John thinks of the albatross, he thinks of their feathers. He thinks of the hats he had made, the bracelets, and the necklaces. He thinks of his family back home, his sisters and brothers. He sinks, and he sinks, and he waits. For three days he sinks, but he does not drown. To the bottom of the ocean floor he holds that final gasp of air in his lungs. As his back hits the sandy surface he finally opens his eyes, but he can not see for it is pitch black. Death, John thinks, and he slowly breathes out the breath that had brought him here. It is quieter than he thought it would be. He stays there for what feels like hours before he hears a melodic voice beside him. “Breathe,” She tells him, “Don’t forget to breathe.” Oddly, John is not startled by the voice nor the request. With his throat still burning, he sucks in a large breath through the dense ocean water.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would love if you left your thoughts below! Thanks for reading!

###  1597 C.E.

John’s first few breaths are shaky. His lungs fight the air. They had become slightly unaccustomed to oxygen over the days. “There you go, easy now,” murmurs the rhythmic voice. “Can you speak?” She asks him. John opens his mouth and tries to form a sentence; the words catch in his throat and shatter like glass so that all that comes out is a loud breath. The woman beside him must take the following silence as an answer because she just hums knowingly. Her hum dances through the black veil of water and around John, dipping around him in beautiful twirls. Slightly dazed from the emotion in her hum, he turns his head towards the sound to try and see her through the darkness. But, it's as if he is staring at the back of his eyelids.

For a moment, the water is still and John thinks that the woman had left, or that she had not been there at all. In the hush of the water John mules over his current situation. He wonders if he is dead, if he had been sent to Hell for bringing so much bad luck to his ship. He does not know where he is, but he knows that he cannot move. John tries to spread his legs apart but is constrained by a harsh object. The chains, John remembers. He relaxes his body once more and tries to speak again. A wince crosses his face as his sentence jumbles up in his chest and sends him into a coughing fit. He goes through hundreds of emotions at once: pain, confusion, anger, sadness, curiosity. With the voice gone, he cannot tell how long he stays there, back pressed against the soft surface with his hands uncomfortably smashed underneath him.

A jolt through his body startles him from his deep thoughts as something sharply smashes against the chains around his legs. He completely forgets that he doesn’t know where he is or why as his mind automatically goes into fight-or-flight mode. He kicks out and the chain snaps off. Nothing but the water around him gets the full brunt of his kick, so he kicks again. This time, he hits something solid. “Fuck!” Cries that same melodic voice from before. Fuck, John thinks. “Oh my, gosh. Ow,” cries the voice, sounding nasally. John squeezes his eyes shut, unable to apologize and not knowing what to do. He doesn’t even know where he is for Christ’s sake. “Geez, okay, I’m okay. That was my bad, really. I should have given you a warning. Here, sit up. Let me take those off of your wrists, okay?” Says the voice cautiously, as if John is a ticking time bomb.

John moves to sit up willingly. He finds his actions slowed as if they are being thwarted by an invisible force. It takes a moment for John to recognize the familiar feeling. His mind clouds over as the realization sets it, panic following soon after. He is underwater. He sucks in a cracking breath, and another, and another until he can feel himself shaking. He was supposed to drown and he is alive underwater. The chains around his wrists crack with another forcible hit and he wraps them around himself. He is breathing underwater.

A mantra of _underwater, underwater, underwater_ is playing so distractingly in John’s head that he almost doesn’t feel the comforting hand on his shoulder. “I know,” the voice sing-songs. The tune of her voice wraps around him and feels strangely like a hug. His heartbeat slows down to a near-steady beat, but it still feels like someone is hammering at his ribcage. “I know,” she says again knowingly. “Do you trust me?” She asks him. John doesn’t know why but something about this woman seems warm and forgiving. So, still unable to speak, he nods and hopes that somehow through the pitch black sheet covering them she can see it. Apparently she does, because suddenly she has a firm grip on his forearm and is dragging him out of the sand. Blindly, he lets her guide him through the depths of the ocean. He is unable to help her carry his weight through the water as his legs are painfully stiff after three days of them being tied tightly together. However, he manages to kick his legs slightly and slowly. Thankfully, that seems to be enough as she does not comment once during their journey.

John closes his eyes and tries to picture where he is. He knows that he is underwater, and he knows that he should be dead. He decides to avoid that train of thought as panic threatens to settle in his stomach again. He knows that there is a woman in front of him with the voice of an angel’s choir teacher, and he knows that he cannot see her but she can possibly see him. John tries to speak again to ask her what her name is. Once again, his words shrivel up and die before they can reach his mouth. John wonders if this is from the chain or from the water. He hopes that it is not permanent.

He doesn’t know for how long they swim. He keeps his eyes closed as there is nothing to see and his eyes are beginning to sting slightly from the salt concentration. Eventually, his legs regain their feeling and he joyfully kicks at the water, glad to finally have something good happen in what feels like this massive LSD trip. The woman in front of him laughs at his childish glee. He opens his eyes and quickly shuts them again, blinded by the sudden burst of light. Slowly, he opens them again and is in awe at what he can see.

People, what seems to be a hundred of them, all watching him with curiosity from underneath them. He tries to ignore the bubbling sensation of nerves and panic that has grown in him again. The people are all beautiful. They are as diverse as they come. Each person’s skin tone and hair texture is different from the next but they all somehow mix together to create a gorgeous scene. John could have mistaken it for a work of art if they were not all moving to follow him. Each woman is scantily dressed, either in a flowing dress that resembles a tunic or nothing at all. John searches for the men, hoping for them to be equally as gorgeous. While the ladies are all goddesses themselves with their hair floating around them and their sparkling eyes, John can’t say that they catch his interest.

However, after surveying the entire group beneath him, he realizes that there is not one man to be found. Everyone there is a breath-taking woman. His eyebrows furrow in confusion, but that is quickly forgotten when he remembers the firm hand on his arm. His head shoots up in excitement, anxious to see the woman who had saved him. John cannot see her face very well from his angle, but from what he could tell she has deep brown eyes and a clear, silky complexion. Her hair floats behind her in thick, shiny toffee waves and she is dressed in a pale yellow tunic-dress. John has to admit, if he was straight he would definitely be drooling over her right now.

John looks away from the women as a large rock nearly covered in plants comes into view. No, not a rock, John realizes, an island. He examines the side as they get closer to it, expecting it to be covered in starfish and flowers. However, it is covered in coral chunks and jagged colored rocks. A box jellyfish slowly makes its way out of a particularly large mass of rocks.

The woman begins to pull him towards the surface, skillfully avoiding the harsh edges of the island. John notices how the rocks get larger and sharper as they get closer to the surface. John wants to look down to see if the women are still following them, but he doesn’t want to miss a pointed edge in front of him. Once his head breaks the surface he immediately begins coughing and spluttering. Ocean water feels lodged in his lungs and he can’t keep his head above water. The woman pulls him to land and he flops onto the warm sand. He wheezes and splutters until the water comes back up. “My knight in shining armor,” He says hoarsely to the woman and rolls over in the sand.

“He speaks!” The woman cheers. John just groans in response. His throat feels raw, and his body had just gotten hit by a semi. “Don’t worry,” She says sympathetically, “This whole thing gets a lot easier.” John debates answering her strange statement, knowing that speaking again will be like swallowing glass.

“Thing?” He finally decides on asking. It was short, simple, less syllables for him to force out.

“Thing.” She repeats happily, as if what she had just told him makes obvious sense. John chooses not to ask her again until he could speak without it feeling like coughing up sandpaper. John slowly turns over and sits up. He is met by the eyes of a hundred women and he flushes under the attention. All of the jagged rocks on the island are covered by women lounging on them, just watching him. He waves awkwardly, but none of them wave back. He flushes deeper.

The woman hesitates. “Don’t mind them. They haven’t seen a male one of us in…well…” She trails off. “Never? I’m Peggy, by the way,” she says as a quick way to change topics.

John just stares at her, confused. What did she mean by “one of us”. He looks her up and down, she seems human. She has legs, arms, a torso, and she is breathing. She isn’t furry and she isn’t breathing fire, so John is at a loss. Realization flashes across Peggy’s face.

“Oh! You don’t know! I’m sorry! Weren’t you on a ship before this? You were chained like they had done to all of us so I just assumed that you were. Sirens. We just haven’t seen a male siren before.” Peggy pauses to gauge John’s reaction, but he just stares blankly at her. “You have heard the stories, right?” John nods slowly. “Well, as I assume you know, a woman on a ship is bad luck to those superstitious sailors. You obviously aren’t a woman, so I don’t know what you did to deserve this. But for us, our husbands had snuck us onto the ship. Unfortunately, they weren’t as sneaky as we would like to believe and we were found quite quickly. Just like any other bringer of bad luck, we had been caught, beaten, chained, and tossed to sea.” Peggy sighs and looks towards the other women, who have shifted their gaze to Peggy to listen to her retell their stories.

“Obviously, we didn’t die. Just like you didn’t die. We just…changed. I think an unknown force wants us to take revenge on the sailors for their pitiful beliefs. Our voices, they’re tempting to the sailors. When a sailor hears our melody, he can’t help but to follow it.” Peggy stops again, as if she doesn’t want to tell John the last part. John urges her on with a nod. “Well, when he follows it, he is unknowingly chasing his own death.” She says solemnly. “It isn’t what we want to do, having almost been killed ourselves, but it is an urge. It feels natural. If you go long without luring in a sailor, the need for revenge will drive you mad.”

Being a former sailor, John already knows this. He had just thought it was a fairy tale. He flops back down onto the sand and covers his face with his palm. “Fuck," he groans.


	3. Chapter 3

_Two days after arriving at the rocky island in the 1500’s, the news had arrived from a wandering siren. Hushed whispers flited from woman to woman, the words slithering out of their lips like pythons. The venom of it sank deep into John. Too shy to ask and too new to be in on the secret, the most he could do was pretend to be numb to the biting glances the sirens sent his way._

_Three days after arriving at the rocky island, John had found Peggy. She had been sitting in the sun with her knees to her chest next to the small hut she shared with her sisters. Her yellow ensemble made her easy to see in the murkiness of the late-October clouds. John had sat down next to her and thoughtfully dragged a lonely twig through the sand. The silence itched at him. “Why?” He had asked her. Peggy did not need an explanation to the vague question. The story had danced its curious and fleeting dance across the island already. She had taken the twig from his hand and replaced it with her own soft touch. There, against the shabby hut in the late-October gloom, Peggy told John that The Kingfisher had sunk five days ago. John did not understand._

_Four days after arriving at the rocky island, John was in mourning. John mourned for the lost men and for his carefully crafted feather creations. But mostly, he mourned for his dearest friend, Lafayette. The grin of a man being bitten crossed his face when he thought of his friend. This mourning was different. Not only did he mourn the loss of his life – the loss that had been John’s fault – but he mourned for all of the misunderstandings. Never would he learn why Lafayette had chained him so willingly, or why he had not defended John. The most peculiar thing of all, is why the ship had sunk without his presence continuing to grace it. He feared for the curiosity that would constantly sink its teeth into him._

_Five days after arriving at the rocky island, John finally understood the hurried glances that the women had been throwing his way. The sky had been as red as the sunrise John had inked into his mind. He had watched from the muddy shoreline as siren after siren jumped into the water. Their songs twirled from their pink lips, creating a steady rhythm that John could feel. Each jumped with the gracefulness of a professional dancer, their long limbs sinking into the depths without a sound. Peggy had been the last to enter the red waters. She had asked him why he wasn’t joining them on their trip. John had told her that he didn’t need to, that he was content. Peggy had given him a strange look. He could have sworn he saw sympathy laced into her eyes, but he ignored it. He did not need pity. This was not because of his lost friends nor because of his adjustment to this new way of living. After a beat of silence, Peggy cleared her throat and let out a low hum. The tune slowly rose to the same intriguing melody that had calmed John that day she had found him. The melody slowly changed into a foreign tune and Peggy joined the other sirens in the water, off to find their next victim. John watched quietly as the water settled. Without a ship to seek revenge on, what was he to sing for?_

### 1785

The satisfaction of The Kingfisher decaying beneath the waves lasts John nearly 200 years. Every day he watches his friends sing their dismal song and come home at peace. He never joins them. John will sit on the silky sands of the coast and watch as they lounge on the harsh and sharp boulders to warm up their satiny voices. This is John’s favorite part of the day. The raw emotion weaving through their voices sends shivers down his spine. Sirens are naturally beautiful, having evolved overtime to be naturally pleasing to the eye, but to John, they never look more beautiful than they do before their endeavors. It is the only glimpse he will ever catch of who his friends were in a different life. Through their songs, they tell him their stories. Sometimes, he will hear an especially breathtaking, crestfallen tune and he will draw the siren in the sands of the beach; John draws her to preserve the mesmerizing scene for as long as possible.

Occasionally, other sirens will still slice him open with their eyes. It feels like he is being poked, prodded and pulled at without ever being touched, but John doesn’t mind. There is no chapter in his story that they do not already know. He keeps the people who matter close to his chest. Besides, he is well-liked nevertheless, considering that he is the only male of interest these women have seen in years. Of course, John is not attracted to them. However, that doesn’t stop some sirens from trying.

John has learned that behind the beauty of a siren, there can be a horror, too. Once every ten nights, John sits with Peggy in her cramped hut and holds her tight. She shivers with stress and nerves for the following day, still not at peace with the need for revenge after her years here. He holds her trembling frame to his calm one. He knows that her anxiety will have washed away by sunrise when the hunger for revenge completely overrides her system, so he waits with her. Sometimes, he sings his own foreign melody to her until her eyes droop shut. It rolls across his tongue in a strange way, unused and unpracticed.

On the night before Peggy’s next trip, John wakes up in a cold sweat. His heart beats against his ribs and he suddenly feels as if he has been tossed to sea again. Imaginary chains bind his ankles as he struggles to get out of his friend’s cot. Peggy shoots up beside him, having fallen asleep against him after he had calmed her. Her hair is a tangled mess and is sticking up at all ends. John would have poked fun at her if he couldn’t feel water in his lungs. John’s wide, tear-filled eyes plead with her. For what, he does not know. He coughs, unable to breathe and Peggy screams her sister’s names. Three pairs of ice cold hands are on his bare back at the same time. They prick his skin.

John squirms under their icy touch. He tries to breath- in, out, in, out- but all that comes in is the taste of the bitter sea, and all that comes out is salt. The imaginary chains on his ankles begin to burn, hotter, hotter, until he cannot stand it. He tries to scream for help, but ends up choking out a gallon of water. The sisters jump back in surprise as sea water hits the floor, black in the darkness of the night. The chains sear his skin. He thinks of Lafayette. More water pools at his feet as a mix of emotions run through his body at once.

His vision begins to fade out until he is suddenly not in the hut anymore. It is dark and he cannot see, he cannot move. He is laying under the waves again, constrained and confused. The millions of gallons of water force his body deeper into the sand. That’s when he hears Peggy’s familiar melody, she is coming back to save him! The melody grows louder and louder, and suddenly he is on is being ripped out of the sand. He is back on land. He wheezes in a breath, he can breathe. One of the sisters says something calming, but he cannot hear it over the tidal waves in his ears. Faintly, Peggy’s voice brings him to reality.

His lungs burn. He falls out of bed, the invisible chains magically gone. An especially rough cough shakes his body and more water comes up from his lungs. The burn of salt causes more tears to fall from his eyes. It feels like he stays there for hours, disposing of water. A seahorse even finds its way out of his body. But, when he can finally breathe without it being an effort, all three sisters are still behind him. Their freezing touches from before have grown warm and he relaxes into them.

“I never thought I’d see the day…” says a smooth voice from behind him. He recognizes it as the voice of Angelica, the eldest sister. He turns his head from the pool of ocean water they are sitting in to look at her. She gives him a warm look. John does not understand, but he is tired and sore and Angelica is warm so he leans into her.

“Are you alright? That was pretty violent. Does anything hurt?” Asks Peggy from beside him. Peggy’s large brown eyes that are usually full of childish delight seem awfully dull in the moonlight shining through the gaps in the roof.

“Yeah, I think so,” John says hesitantly. He is pleasantly surprised to find that his throat is not raw. Peggy’s shoulders relax at that. He had not noticed how tense she was. “What was that?” He asks. Truthfully, he is not too worried. Stranger has happened during his time on the island. John looks towards the second eldest sister – the sister who had been here the longest - who is sitting opposite of Angelica. Unlike Peggy’s dull eyes and Angelica’s startled ones, her eyes are bright.

“Eliza...” Angelica warns, giving her a look.

“I can’t believe it!” Eliza exclaims, avoiding Angelica’s eyes. John looks at her curiously, looking for a clue as to what had just happened. “Nearly 200 years…we were all so shocked! I mean, sure we were a bit hostile at first but we eventually understood," She says, "This, John, is what we call the Revival.”

“The Revival?” John prompts.

“Yes, the Revival! Oh, I am so happy that I get to explain this to you! I never had kids of my own, you see, so I have never gotten a chance to be so…” Eliza stops suddenly as Angelica gives her another pointed look. “Sorry, I got off topic.” John gives her a small nod of encouragement. Eliza has always been a motherly figure. 

“Anyways, the Revival can be quite terrifying at first. You are forced by some act of nature to relive the evils you have experienced. It reminds you of our purpose, of why we are here instead of decaying in the ocean,” Eliza’s tone falls flat for a moment, but quickly lightens up when she sees the slightly distressed look on John’s face.

“It is gruesome,” She continues, “But it marks the start of something amazing. All of us had gotten our Revival only days after we had arrived. You are truly spectacular. I mean, a male siren with 200 years of innocence to his name. I have never heard of such a phenomenon.” Eliza gives him a loving look and tucks a stray hair behind his ear. Angelica holds John closer to her chest. Peggy looks away from Eliza, harsh lines set unnaturally against her sculpted face.

“After you get your Revival,” Eliza says, realizing that she had gotten off topic again, “That need for revenge we all get truly sets in. It may sound scary, but the peace you can find in it is so beautiful!” Eliza says blissfully. Her long, dark hair reflects the moonlight and her eyes sparkle like the stars above them. Angelica just listens to Eliza speak. She does not comment on Eliza’s statement. Peggy refuses to raise her eyes from the murky little ocean on the floor.

John’s heart drops. After 200 years of peace, he will soon be forced to do the unthinkable. He had not asked his other friends on the island their experiences with the siren’s way. However, he has enough insight from both Peggy and Eliza to have a good enough idea of what to expect. “How soon?” John asks.

“Tomorrow. You can come with me.” Peggy says. There is a look on her face that John can’t quite read.

“Tomorrow? Are you sure?” John asks, “Don’t you think that that might be a bit too soon?” John can’t help but feel a bit anxious about the whole ordeal.

“Yes, tomorrow. I could…show you the ropes. I have to go tomorrow anyways. Hey, maybe it will be fun!” Peggy says to try and lighten the mood. Her eyes are a dead giveaway, though. It is as if they had aged years in a matter of minutes. Eliza claps her hands excitedly.

“That would be great for him!” Eliza looks at John excitedly and John can’t help but smile back. Her pearly smile is contagious.

“Yeah, that would be nice Peggy. Thank you,” He says, offering Peggy a supportive grin. “And thank you, Angelica and Eliza. You two really are angels.” He gives them both a quick peck on the cheek and they flush a deep red. He then moves to the cot, careful to avoid the small ocean on the floor. He makes room for Peggy as she shuffles over and wraps his arms around her stiff figure.

Moments pass in silence, and then John whispers “I’m sorry,” to her in the dark. Angelica and Eliza had fallen asleep again, their rhythmic breathing making John a bit sleepy. He kisses the top of her head softly. Peggy shuffles closer to John and sighs into his chest. 

“Don’t apologize for something you cannot help, Laurens,” Peggy says, muffled, “We will be okay.” Her sentence falters at the end, the nerves creeping their way back to her.

John hugs her tightly. “We will be okay,” he repeats confidently. He can feel Peggy smile against him.

A comfortable silence settles over them again. John waits for Peggy to fall asleep, wanting to be awake for any more of her anxiety induced moments tonight. Just when he think he hears Peggy’s breathing even out, she whispers, “You know that my sisters totally want to bang you, right?”

John muffles a laugh in his pillow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alexander is in the next chapter!! yay!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long wait! The past few days have been very stressful. Anyways, I would just like to let you guys know that this story does not have a beta, so there are often many typos or grammatical errors. I do not always catch them before I post the chapter, so patience with them is appreciated because I fix them once I notice them. Thanks for reading!

Hushed voices fill the room and shake gently at John’s shoulders. “John…wake up,” The whispers say.

John stirs and happily stretches his body, groaning contentedly. The atmosphere in the room that morning feels different than last night. All traces of franticness have dissolved in the bright morning sun. He cracks one eye open to see all three sisters gathered around Peggy’s cot. “Morning,” he says sleepily.

The sisters giggle gleefully. “Good morning!” They chirp in unison. John says nothing more. The girls continue their tittering in louder tones now. John watches Peggy carefully. Peggy, of course is full of her usual youthful life. Though, there is something hidden behind the bright stars in her eyes. Not sadness, nor the panic that had stumbled its way into them last night, but revenge. A revenge that is mixed with excitement. True to the siren’s way, Peggy has once again fallen into the biological trap. John hates to admit it, but he loves Peggy when she is in the siren mindset. Once the need for revenge takes control of Peggy’s body, she becomes more relaxed than he has ever seen her. It’s not exactly Peggy, but it’s Peggy enough. She deserves the break.

John pulls the blankets closer to his chin and relishes in the calm. The stress from the night before fades away as the girls’ carefree ramblings wash over him. His eyes slowly droop shut again in the peace. Suddenly, he remembers why he was woken up before breakfast had even began. He should be distraught, he thinks, at wits’ end, but he is not. The thought of finally using his song for its intended purpose only brings John excitement. The siren’s way, John thinks. The need for revenge has set up camp in his mind for the day. Long gone were any leftover anxieties.

“John!” Eliza says through a laugh, “Don’t fall back asleep!”

John furrows deeper into the soft blankets. “M’not,” He mumbles. The blankets are quickly ripped off his body and John yelps at the sudden cold. He half-heartedly reaches out to the offender.

Peggy drops the blankets at the foot of her cot. “Get out of my bed, Laurens. And brush your hair, too. You look like my great-great-great aunt’s poodle.” John sticks his tongue out at her and Peggy’s stern façade crumbles into a laugh. Eliza shakes her head at them.

“Breakfast in ten, you too. Everyone is already lining up out there.” Eliza says. Even through the blissful siren magic, Eliza still manages to be as motherly as possible. John rubs his eyes and rolls out of bed. The smell of pastries wafts through the huts thin walls and John’s mouth waters. Apparently, hurling sea water from your lungs makes you starving. John pulls his loose, peach shorts over his bare figure. Eliza had made him the shorts out of an old tunic-dress once the clothes he had arrived in had begun to fray. She was a magician with a makeshift needle and thread. He then threw his hair into a quick ponytail. That counts as “brushed”, right?

Eliza and Angelica slowly put their own ensembles on, taking care to move in a way that complemented their bare figures. John stifled a smile. Are there any woman on this island who understood that his farthest interest in breasts is as a still life? He can’t blame them, though. If a man were to show up here he would be as desperate as them.

Peggy is already dressed in her own tunic-dress and is staring into a glass shard. It was too jagged to be held properly in her tender touch. In one hand lay a small bowl (stolen off an old ship) full of a pasty red substance (a makeshift makeup product made of various berries). He stands awkwardly in the hut as the girls primp and preen. Having nothing else to do to beautify himself, he exits the hut. 

A gentle breeze caresses John as he ventures into the soft light. The sheets that hang from the sisters’ entryway brushes against him with a _swish_. The sands of the island sink under his feet on his walk to the cafeteria. It is not a traditional cafeteria like the ones that John remembers from his time at school. The sirens all line up to receive their meal from Lany in front of the ocean. Lany is one of the most favored sirens on the island. Every morning she sings her song to ships far from the shore line in exchange for a supply of food and water. Occasionally, she will even return with goods. Once, she gave John an entire pack of hair ties. He really does not know how this island would stand without her.

John follows his nose to the short line in front of Lany’s hut. The women titter excitedly around it, pastries forgotten in the rush. Each women smells of revenge and it only shortens his patience to get into the water. How peculiar, John thinks, I have never felt so drawn to the waves before. He reaches Lany’s attractive hut and the women quickly shift over to let him cut in front of them. Perks of being male, John thinks. He smiles gratefully at them and smoothly moves into the hut.

“Good morning, John!” calls Lany from behind a silky sheet hanging from the roof. Her voice is as sweet as the puffs placed on the table in front of him. A clinking sound comes from behind the sheet and she glides out from behind it wearing nothing but a pearly necklace. “I’m a bit busy, but help yourself!” She gestures to the assortment of pastries.

“Thank you, Lany,” he reaches out to grab a particularly soft looking pastry only to be stopped by her hand. He looks up into her bronze eyes with a startled expression. 

“Wait,” she says slowly. A smile slowly spread across her full lips as realization dawns on her. “A little birdie told me that you had your Revival last night.” Her French accent plays on the syllables. John laughs awkwardly.

“Yeah,” He says. Lany’s ebony curls bounce around her as she pulls away from him to clap excitedly. John can’t help but be reminded of Lafayette when he speaks to her. It puts a pit in his stomach, cruel curiosity.

“That is amazing! How does it feel? The siren’s way is such a blessing, isn’t it? It feels so clean!” She says gaily. She brushes her curly locks out of her face and looks him over. “You look brighter, too.” 

John gives her an appreciative smile. “I feel great, thank you.”

“So, how do you think this will work?” Asks Lany. She takes the pastry that John has been eyeing. He ignores it politely.

“Sorry?” He asks her. He has been here for 200 years now, he thinks he understands the process.

“You know, the whole gay thing. Apparently homophobia is still huge out there, can you believe it?” She wraps her lips around the pastry and sighs as it melts in her mouth. “What a bunch of savages.”

John furrows his eyebrows at that. Truthfully, he has forgotten homophobia exists. On this island, the women are more accepting than anyone he has known. Homophobia, sexism, and racism are all things of the past. After all, those ideas tend to fade away once you are stuck on an island with such a diverse group. John wouldn’t know what was still big in the world. The closest contact he has had to a human in 200 years are the stories wandering sirens tell. John is always be the first to hear the stories, hanging on the edge of his seat until the last word. Call it wander lust, but John has always itched for human contact. He could never tell the other sirens that, lest they send him off to sea. For him, curiosity really did kill the cat.

“I assume that my song will still work. How can it not? Even if it only draws in the gayest of the ship,” John says confidently. He has seen his song work before when he lures Peggy into calmness during her fitful nights. His own song is foreign to him, but he knows that it is not broken.

Lany hums thoughtfully. “I guess we’ll see. Now go, your holding up the line!” She shoves him playfully. John laughs goodheartedly and grabs a pastry before making his way out of the hut. He bumps into Peggy as he rounds the corner.

“There you are! I’ve been looking for you!” Peggy says quickly, “Angelica and Eliza are already ready. They were trying to get me to join them but I told them that we had to wait for you. They might have already left with their friends, though.” Peggy grabs John’s wrist and he drops his pastry. He looks at the pastry forlornly as Peggy drags him away, already tuning her voice.

Peggy’s song is one that hits John the hardest. The other sirens, they sing for revenge and for the loss of their lives. But Peggy, she sings for heartbreak. Her song tells the story of the lover she had lost on that ship so many years ago. Peggy cannot move on from him, so she sings to him in hopes that he will hear her song, so he will know that she will never forget him, even if he had forgotten her. Her forlorn melody is breathtaking.

John tests his own melody. It is scratchy at first, out of practice. Once they reach the wet sand it has grown stable. Quietly, he sings for curiosity. His own pitiful curiosity. He sings for his curiosity about Lafayette, about his ship, and about humans. The sirens around them join Peggy and him with their own tales, conducted by an unknown force. The sadness of the orchestra tugs on his heartstrings.

One by one, the sirens gracefully slip into the water. The orchestra grows silent as they lose the women to the sea. John is the last one to jump into the waters, pushed both by Peggy and by revenge. At first, as he weaves around the sharp rocks, the revenge is silent and patient. He swims calmly, patiently. Peggy, driven by her stronger need for revenge, has swam past him into the murky depths. Ever so slowly, the revenge gains momentum and before John knows it he has lost sight of the shoreline. 

The need for revenge is his eyes as he swims through the biting water. He knows no direction. John follows his blind instinct. The water is cold but the blood pumping through his veins is burning hot. He swims without seeing another siren, but he does not notice. Revenge has completely taken him over and he cannot think straight. He is no longer John. Briefly, John wonders if the pure anger inside him is visible. He belts out his curious melody elegantly.

In the distance he sees a massive shadow. He is pulled towards it. It covers his light source completely, but he continues to swim underneath it. Darkness encloses around him and he circles the object. His time is now, and he has to strike. He is pushed upwards until he is above water. He is held there as he sings his song of curiosity. There is a man on the edge of the covert object. Dressed in a pale white shirt and light grey trousers, he starkly stands out against the massive ship. His chocolate hair is neatly pulled into a bun and the light of the sun reflects against his eyes. In his hands, he holds snowy white parchment and he writes furiously with a feather. It is the same madness that John sings with. In a moment of particularly fierce writing, he loses his grasp on his parchment. He yelps as the paper falls to sea, almost taking him with it. He’s perfect, John manages to think through his haze.

The man looks up from his lost masterpiece when he hears the curious tune. John’s hair sits in drying curls against his forehead and the man’s eyes are drawn to them. He absentmindedly follows his parchment off the ship. John dives back into the cloudy water.

Underwater, the man is swimming towards him. His eyes are glazed over with the siren’s curse. Revenge courses through John. Now, says the unknown force, do it now. His melody picks up a faster pace, curiosity, curiosity. He grabs the man by the throat. He is warm in the icy depths. Down, down John is pulled. The man is pulled. The sunlight begins to fade away. He turns to see the man he is being forced to hold onto. His eyes are wide and focused on John. He does not struggle. He is trapped in the curse, listening intently to John’s song. His song falters, and so does the curse. The man blinks. Quickly, John finds the right note again.

The man’s locks are beginning to fall out of his ponytail, framing his gentle face. John’s melody catches again, and the man tries to breathe in. Panic flashes through the man’s eyes as he struggles to break free of John’s hold, the curse completely broken. John panics as well, but the unknown force holds him there with the man. He tightens his grip on the man’s throat. He can feel him trying to force nonexistent air into his lungs. John tries to strengthen his melody.

The man thrashes and pushes John, but John only stares. He can’t escape from the siren’s way. Suddenly, the struggling stops. The man looks at him with wide, pleading eyes. His full lips are parted as if he has completely given up on trying to hold his breath. The haze in John’s mind begins to fade. The man stares at him like an offender, waiting for John to drop the gavel on his fate. John blinks slowly and he comes back to his senses. The unknown force must have decided to have pity on him. Free from the siren’s way, full blown stress finds its way into John. He panics as the man goes limp in his grasp.

His heart stops. He cannot kill the angel before him. He adjusts his grip on the man to underneath his arms and swims towards the surface. Years pass before they break the waves. John pulls the man above the current and tears fill his eyes when the man does not gasp in a breath. He places his fingers lightly on the man’s throat, but he does not grab it this time. A pulse, he can feel a pulse. It is there, but hardly. Just as John had been moments ago. He can save him, John realizes. It’s not too late for him. He spots a cluster of wet boulders not too far from them. As fast as his legs could take him, he pushes them towards the dark rocks.

Carefully, John places the man on top of the rocks. He keeps a hand underneath his cold head to keep it from colliding with the rough surface. John feels dread run through him. He does not know what to do next. Is there even a way to save a man so far gone?

Suddenly, the man splutters. John shoots up onto the rock and rolls the man over so that he lay on his stomach. He hurls sea water onto the rocks until he can breathe. Guilt replaces John’s panic and dread. The man immediately passes out again into a puddle of his own discard, but now he is breathing steadily. John cannot kill him, nor can he bring him back to his boat. He runs a finger down the man’s clammy cheek. The color has drained from his face in a sickly way, but John can see the faintest hint of red in his cheeks. He cannot kill this angel.

He slowly pulls the man into the water again. Careful to keep his head above water, John begins pulling him back to the island, his instincts directing him. The other sirens cannot see this man. John does not know if he thinks this for their safety, of for his own jealousy. He changes his route slightly, aiming his swimming to the back of the island where no siren lives. John decides that until he knows what to do with this beautiful human, the man can stay there.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many history references ahead...

It isn’t until nightfall that the angel wakes. John takes him to the south side of the island, where no siren sings on land or below. Thick vines slither through the dark sand and without proper maintenance the palm leaves brush against John as he walks. If he doesn’t carefully map out every step, he could sink into a particularly mushy patch of sand or fall into the small black oceans created by the winds. John can see why this area is yet to be populated.

John lays the angel gently against a palm tree, hidden in the dense vegetation. He slowly lowers himself across from him. Briefly, he wonders why he compares the man before him to an angel. Maybe it is because he has not seen such a sight in centuries, or maybe it is because the man had singlehandedly broken free from the curse. An angel, how peculiar. John has not been a religious man since his fall. Everything he knew was torn away from him and pulled away by the tides. Now, he believes in what he sees, for what he cannot see he does not have a sense of permanence.

The pale moon light shimmers through the gaps in the green and onto the angel’s face. It highlights his features in an almost mystical way. Next to him, John feels almost human. His drying hair delicately frames his soft features, the deep color a stark contrast against the pale reflecting off of it. He looks relaxed, much more relaxed than he had been when John had found him on the ship. John wonders what the man was writing with such passion. An animal barks from some distance away, unfazed by the serenity of the scene. John cannot be bothered to shoo the animal away. He feels he owes the man the decency to be here when he wakes. Minutes pass, maybe hours, with no more entertainment than the way the man’s eyelashes flutter against his cheekbones at every creature’s shrill call.

John keeps to himself. A human- an attractive one nonetheless- is in reaching distance of him, and for once he is at a loss. The curiosity that fuels him bites away at his throat. His mind is a downpour of questions. Yet, a gnarly feeling holds his lips shut, keeps his hands at his sides, and glues his eyes to the sea. How is he to present his curiosities when he does not even know if his presence is welcomed? Every so often his cat-like eyes will jump to the angel, just for a moment, to analyze the painting once more. _A real human._

The real human gives him the faintest nostalgia. John recalls his time in Europe, where he had grown up. Truthfully, he does not remember much. He wonders how much the real human remembers, and if he will be willing to retell his memories. John knows that he grew up poor, the son of a serf. He does not remember his father’s name, nor what happened to his mother. He will not let himself dwell on that, though. John remembers the Black Death, had it reached his family? Fleeting stories make their way in and out of his mind before he has time to remember them: Byzantium, churches, knights, manors, disease. He wonders if his manor noticed he was missing.

Maybe the real human has also come from Europe. He wears a white coat, longer in the back and form-fitting over his light ensemble. It looks quite silly, really. Could he have been a lord? A serf could never afford to waste money on such a ridiculous coat. John is so caught up in nit-picking the man’s outfit that he almost doesn’t notice him stir.

“Fuck,” The angel groans, “My head.” John suddenly wishes he was born a chameleon. The angel cracks a startlingly shiny eye open, squinting at the adjustment. Two beats. “Fuck!” He says again. This time he slams his back against the palm tree in a desperate attempt to flee. His exhausted legs fail him, crumbling like cookies into milk. He looks at John with wide, pleading eyes. The same eyes John had seen under the waves. He feels sick with those doe eyes staring at him like he is a bloody murderer. He wants to sink into one of the pools at his feet.

“Hello,” John says meekly. Never has he been at such a loss for words. Maybe he is a bloody murderer. No, it was not him who pulled the angel under. The man does not move, does not speak. John wonders if it’s too late to dive back into the ocean.

“I’m sorry. I’m also John, in case you were wondering,” He says awkwardly, trying to prompt any conversation available. He needs the man to stop looking at him like a hurt puppy, he feels nauseous. Still, no reply.

“I am really sorry,” He tries again, “I don’t know where to begin, I really don’t. It is a long story, but if you would let me I will retell it to you. I cannot stand to be a villain in your endearing eyes.” The angel turns bright pink. Maybe John is sweetening him up a little bit, but a little compliment never hurt anyone. Besides, it’s not like he is lying. He nods slowly, looking as if he is mentally preparing an escape route. But, he does not make a move to leave. Score one, John.

John clears his throat. “Well, I guess I should begin with a proper introduction. I’m John Laurens, and I’ve been here for longer than you would believe. Two centuries, actually.” John stops to gauge the man’s reaction, but his face is carefully blank, so he continues. “Yeah, two centuries. I really didn’t mean to pull you under, believe me. See, the reason I’ve been here for two centuries is because I’m not exactly human. I’m not a monster, though! I’m not a monster, I swear, you can trust me. Really. I am just a little different. Like I-can-breathe-underwater-different. I did not want to kill you. Fuck, I don’t want to kill you now either. I don’t know what I’m saying. Am I even making sense?” John rubs his hands over his face. He is really, really bad at this.

“A siren.” The man says quietly. His voice is velvety, like dark chocolate. John looks up, startled at his sudden decision to speak up. “You’re a siren.” John gapes, unable to form a coherent thought. “I knew what you were from the moment I heard your song. Why are you so curious?” He asks, gaining confidence in his words. “Curiosity is a quirky thing, isn’t it? Remarkable, uncanny.”

John stares. How does the man know he is a siren? Furthermore, why is he not freaking out? The man does not look at him, but at the sea. An owl hoots in the distance. He continues on without waiting for a reply.

“My sister, we lost her to the sea many years ago. My mother says she turned to sea foam. My father says she swims with the sharks. I think she is a siren. Her song, I’ve heard it in dreams, isn’t that strange? She sings in the coral reef, where she will never be found. I don’t think she wants to be found, my siren sister.” The man speaks without question. He talks as if he is reading from a book. His voice is void of curiosity and John is drawn to it.

“I trust you.” The man says. He finally looks to John. His gaze is hard against his soft face. Soft, soft, soft. ”John Laurens,” He starts, his face relaxing, “Where do we happen to be?”

“An island,” John deadpans. His answer is inadequate and he knows it. His mouth sets into a hard line. Real human, angel, island, real human, curiosity, questions, island, angel. John cannot supply the answers that he needs. He is itching to get his own.

“An island,” the man repeats. “Well, John Laurens, how do we get to America from an island?” A soft breeze blows his hair into his face. He ties it with the elastic that had shaken loose from the currents. John is mesmerized by the way his fingers easily twist the tie.

“Is that in Africa?” John asks. He vaguely remembers hearing about a few lands in Africa on a trade route. The man shakes his head.

“No, it is a continent. Isn’t there a newsman here? America, the novel I need to help write.” He drags his finger through the sand, sketching out an image of America for John to see. “I was on a ship to America, you see. I really should have been nearly there by now. But, I know I cannot blame you for taking me overboard.” He says. John rubs his neck shamefully. “I grew up there. I took a trip to Europe to broaden my horizons, to learn something new. Truthfully, there is not much to see. I guess the war really took a toll on them. I received a letter from America not too long ago. They want me to come back and help organize the government. It’s an honor, really.” He smiles at the ground bashfully. “There is so much I need to get done.”

“America…” John trails off. The man looks up at him expectantly. A new continent? John can only remember two. How long has it been there? “America.” He tries the word out. It rolls off easily. “America.” He says again. “I want to visit America, where the people live. I want to ‘broaden my horizons’ and ‘learn something new’.” What else has he missed while he was on this island? Did the Mongols ever make a comeback? Curiosity bites at him, and it bites and it bites until he bleeds.

The man smiles at him. “I’d love to take you sometime. But first, I need to sleep. Will I be safe here?” John nods eagerly. This angel, the one who had been so quiet not even an hour ago, seems to have more to say than John ever has. He refrains from asking any questions for now. He needs to let the man sleep, it is the least he can do. He shakes off the image of those bright brown eyes pleading with him under the blue.

“Goodnight.” John says, nodding his head to him. “I will be back tomorrow? I cannot stay here. My friends will worry.” John suddenly remembers Peggy. He wonders how she is feeling after the hunt.

The man smiles gratefully at him. “Goodnight, John Laurens.” He turns to find a softer patch of land. Thankfully, the weather is forgiving and the man seems to go with the flow.

“Wait,” John stops him. “I never learned your name.” 

“Alexander Hamilton, John Laurens.” The man does a mock curtsey then retreats into the trees.

John’s tongue stings from biting it.


	6. Chapter 6

The sand melts under John’s feet as he makes his way to the northern end of the island. He keeps his pace quick, wanting to avoid sinking into the icy water. Alexander Hamilton, he thinks, is quite the character. John has never seen such a blatant display of trust, especially after John _nearly_ killed him. John doesn’t want to think about that, though. He would rather think about the way Alexander has the eyes of an owl. John drowns in them. The ink of his irises decorates the whites of the parchment elegantly, and John wants to read the stories they write. Where had the real human come from? How well did he know of sirens? Why had he trusted John so easily? What did he know? What could he share? Curiosity, curiosity.

A worrying thought intrudes his mantra of questions. Where is the man to go? John knows that he cannot keep him here. Sirens, as kind as they are, have a fiercer attitude towards humans. It’s just in their blood. John, though, doesn’t understand the anger on most days. Perhaps, it is because he isn’t a normal siren. He had lost his ship many years ago; He didn’t receive his Revival for a great span of time. Time, it’s all he seems to know. Maybe, just maybe, his need for revenge isn’t as strong as the other siren’s. His curiosity hits him at full force at the thought of his ship, at the thought of Lafayette. Is it too risky to hope? 

John can build him a boat out of sticks. It won’t be sturdy. Rocks? That will sink. And swimming? Too dangerous. Provisions will also be a hassle. While sirens can survive months without food, John knows it is different for a human. Now is not the time to dwell on it, he decides. First, he needs to clear his mind with a good night’s sleep. When Alexander tells him he wants to leave, they can figure it out together. John just hopes that day does not come too soon.

Is it selfish to hope that Alexander stays? They barely know each other, would he stay? John doesn’t want to lose an angel to Heaven, but he doesn’t know if he can keep him from soaring away. Where the humans live must be far more interesting than this island. John would swim alongside him to America if he could. But, there is no place for a siren there. If the angel must fly away, would he be willing to teach John a few things first?

Needlelike flames greet his flitting eyes as he reaches the huts. Sirens gather around it, laughing and retelling their endeavors. John feels a twitch of annoyance. Not an endeavor, but a hunt. The tranquility leftover from their hunt hangs over the fire on a spit. The smell is suffocating. This is why he needs the angel to stay in the trees. He plasters on a smile and makes himself visible.

“John!” Eliza immediately calls. She runs up to him with her meal waving from one bloody hand. “How was it? You look so alive!” John feels dead. 

“Oh, Eliza! It was _invigorating!_ Really, I don’t know what held back my Revival for so long,” John says with fake enthusiasm. He pulls her in for a hug. Metallic liquids waft their way up to his nose. He feels the need to wash up.

“I’m so happy for you! My little John…all grown up,” Eliza pinches his cheek with a crimson hand. “Come on, then! Everyone here is dying to hear your story!” She grabs John’s wrist and pulls him to the pack. John is met by a chorus of greetings, bright in the darkness of the night. John is pushed onto a log at the head of the fire. The lifeless eyes of the meal stare at him with judgement.

The chatter dies. All eyes are on John – as they usually are – but this time it is different. The women do not stare at him to nitpick, nor is there lust in their gaze. Now, there is savagery in their twinkling eyes, the siren’s way. Showtime.

“Well, how was it?” Calls Lany’s champagne voice from the outskirts of the crowd. John clears his throat.

“As I told Eliza, it was invigorating.” The sirens sing their praise. Peggy catches his eye. Her usual aura is gone, replaced by someone else’s. He knows he cannot cut the story short. “I know there are a few rumors going around about my song not being able to work on the men. I’m looking at you, Lany,” He jokes. The crowd erupts in laughter and jeers. He has them hooked.

“But that isn’t the case,” John continues, “There was this gentleman on a ship. Salt and pepper hair, hazel eyes. A real looker. He seemed to be drawing something. It may have been this pod of dolphins I had passed on the way.” The sirens coo. They urge him on with their eyes, impatient to get to the good part. “He looked up at me, and suddenly I knew this was my calling,” The burn of bile makes John’s throat sting. The sirens nod enthusiastically. Peggy isn’t listening anymore, but watching the spit brown. He wants to stop to apologize to her.

“So I sang with all my heart. Of course, the man dives down into the blue,” John pauses. This is what they are waiting for. “I grab him and pull him below his boat. He’s looking at me like I’m holy,” Laughter cuts him off. John thinks of Alexander. He had looked at him like he was holy. John looks to Peggy again. He wants to scream, “I’m lying! This isn’t true! Please don’t listen to me!”

“I guess the adrenaline got the better of me. I took the man to the anchor of his ship and shoved his hand through the chain. I’m sorry I couldn’t contribute to the feast,” John says. His eyes burn from the ominous, black puffs of smoke. 

“Don’t sweat it, honey!” Sings a voice from the crowd. The women around him whistle their own agreements. Hook, line, and sinker. The women move to gather around him, asking him questions and patting his back. John feels overwhelmed. He needs to talk to Peggy.

“Excuse me,” He says, gently pushing his way through the group. One siren giggles when he accidentally puts his hand on her lower back. “Excuse me.” He spots Peggy on the other side of the spit. She makes a move to leave when she sees him coming her way. Her face is stone. He feels ghostly. John picks up his pace, but Peggy does not turn around. Her hair lashes out behind her like a whip.

“Peggy,” He pleads.

“What, Laurens? What do you need? Do you want to swap stories about tonight? I’ll go first.” She says wrathfully. She spins around and John gets the full brunt of her hair. He jumps back. “I went underwater in a haze, killed an innocent man, cried, and then waited for you to come back. You didn’t. Where were you? Better yet, what were you?” Her voice breaks and John wants to reach out to her. “All those nights you held me when I couldn’t even see straight, what were those? Out of all the sirens, John Laurens, I thought you would be the one to share my humanity. But you are just like the rest of them.” Her hard façade shatters. A sob shakes her body and she runs off before John can explain himself.

John feels weak. His knees threaten to give up on him. He can’t be here, not now. The commotion is overwhelming his senses. He turns his back on the savage feast. Maybe he can make it back to Alexander before the first birdsong.


	7. Chapter 7

Truthfully, John is thankful for the excuse to leave the fire. The mixture of the burning feast and the smoldering lies leaves his head cloudy and his sinuses burning. And Peggy, poor Peggy. He wants to apologize to her, but he doesn’t think “Hey, Peggy, I didn’t really kill an old guy. I didn’t kill anyone. I am actually hiding a gorgeous human in the trees right now! Crazy!” would sit too well with the siren, even if she did share a soft spot for humans. But stranger has happened. And for an excuse to leave, Alexander isn’t too poor of one. John can’t help but feel those cliché butterflies in his stomach at the thought of him. He tries to push them away, though. Alexander is a human - who probably knows far more than he should – and John is a siren. It wouldn’t work. It shouldn’t work. On top of the biological differences, John almost killed him. He shivers from the memory of the cold water engulfing him and Alexander.

An animal howls in the distance with disdain. The cry crashes through the trees, multiplying the animal into dozens. A chill runs down John’s spine. He picks up his pace. The creatures on this island are not typically dangerous, but John doesn’t feel lucky enough to avoid being a wolf’s dessert. The wind suddenly picks up and John finds himself blocking his eyes with his arm. He trudges on through the wet sand blindly, hoping that he won’t find himself under the island seconds later. Another cry breaks the trees, sounding closer. He hopes that Alexander does not fear any ferocious beast. John does not know for how long he walks. The walk to the angel seems an awful lot further than the walk to the sirens. He feels exhaustion begin to set its gnarly self in his body for the night. Half-focused and half-happy, he moves along the island under the cover of the trees. Some nights never seem to end.

As he gets farther from the sirens and closer to the angel, the wind calms its brutal attacks. John hesitantly lowers his arm from his eyes, and is pleasantly met with a painting of sorts. Red tones peek through the puffy clouds in the sky. This red is not the red he painfully remembers from the Kingfisher. This red is a bright rose, with yellow and orange butterflies resting on its pristine petals. He looks beside him. The sea is not blue, but a dazzling gemstone color. The world seems to be at peace. John wishes he was as well. Unfortunately, he has a few setbacks, and his carnivorous genes and a breathtaking human happen to be all of them. But for now, he will let himself indulge in this painting. The strokes of the paintbrush push him forward in his exhausted haze.

“Well, if it isn’t John Laurens,” Calls a voice from the trees. Alexander stumbles through the foliage, bright eyed and bushy tailed. John is almost jealous. Alexander holds a coconut in one hand, cracked open through the middle. He wipes a milk mustache off of his upper lip. John finds it utterly endearing. Alexander’s hair is hanging loose around his face, shining brighter than it had last night. John had thought his eyes were a deep raven, but now he can see the lighter brown threads that intricately lace his irises. Even with his hair messy and a coconut milk mustache, Alexander still somehow makes John feel as if he is the human.

“Good morning,” mumbles John through a yawn. “I came back earlier than I had planned, I’m sorry I didn’t bring breakfast with me. I see you’ve figured something out, though.” Alexander raises his coconut.

“It’s fine. I’ve never had a coconut before, kind of weird,” He says. He takes another sip and shrugs. A silence sets itself over them.

“Alexander-“ John starts.

“Alex, you can call me Alex.”

“Alex,” John begins again with a smile on his lips. Alex smiles, too. They both like the way it rolls off of John’s tongue. “Again, I would like to apologize. I know I said I was sorry last night, but it didn’t reflect how really sorry I am. Alex-“

Alex cuts off John again. “It’s still early John, let’s not think about that right now. Right now, it’s time to have breakfast. Come on, I found a really tall coconut tree!” He says happily. He turns back into the trees before John can answer. John hangs his mouth open dumbly. Alexander Hamilton really is quite the character.

John follows Alex through the dense trees, barely keeping up. It’s like a turtle following a rabbit with the sleep deprivation John is struggling against. They stop at the tall coconut tree, and Alex picks up one of the large coconuts that had dropped off the branches. _Crack_ , he opens it against the tree trunk. John jumps at the sudden noise, but gratefully accepts the coconut. 

“So, what brings you back here before the sun has even fully risen?” Alex asks. He leans against the tree and takes a long sip from his coconut. John stalls, bringing his own coconut up to his lips. The liquid is sweet against the bitter taste in his mouth.

“I hit a bit of a bump with a friend,” He says vaguely. He avoids Alex’s eyes.

“It was about me,” He says bluntly, knowingly. John heart jumps at the lack of hesitation in his voice.

“A little bit, yeah,” John says. He swishes the sweet drink against the rims of the coconut, watching the way it rises and falls along the side. “It wasn’t your fault, though. She doesn’t know you’re here, no one does. I can’t tell them. They would kill you, and Lord knows what they would do to me.” He finally looks up from his drink. Alex is watching him intently, reading him.

Alex chooses to hear only half of what John says. “Are you and your friend going to be okay?” He asks, prompting John to continue his story.

John sighs. “Yeah, eventually. I told everyone that I had killed a man, an older one. It didn’t sit well with her and now she’s upset with me. It’s really my fault, though. I should have told her the truth. Looking at her when I told everyone that work of fiction was like getting hit by an arrow. Well, more like a cannonball. On fire.” John explains. Alex tilts his head like a lost puppy.

“But sirens, isn’t cold-blooded murder in your guys’ blood?” Alex asks with eyebrows furrowed. John almost gets distracted by the way his nose scrunches up in the most adorable way.

“Yea, but not her. She gets anxiety attacks before hunts. She has a soft spot for humans,” John says.

“Like you,” Alex notes.

John looks at the way Alex’s cheekbones rise just high enough to reflect the sun, and the way his nose is just a little crooked. He thinks about the way that Alex seems to hold the answers to all his questions and how he is optimistic even after being practically kidnapped and says, “Like me.”

Alex smiles. “I like that about you, John Laurens. You’re different,” He says. John blushes slightly at the strange compliment.

“So are you, you know.” John says back. Alex raises his eyebrows and drinks from his coconut, waiting for John to continue. “You went through a lot of shit getting here, and now I’m hiding you on an island in the middle of nowhere. We barely know each other, yet, you are still optimistic and kind. I envy that about you, Alexander Hamilton. You’re different,” He playfully throws his own words back at him. Alex chuckles into his coconut.

“Stories are only fun when you can write them a little different,” Alex replies. He takes a final swig of his drink then sets the coconut on the ground. A dragonfly curiously flits around it. “Besides, it’s hard to be pessimistic when there’s a gorgeous siren taking care of you.” He says playfully. John feels the blood rush to his cheeks and Alex’s blunt flirting. Alex laughs at how apparently easily John gets flustered. The pink in his cheeks makes the dark circles under his eyes stand out and Alex gasps.

“How much sleep did you get last night?” He asks, placing a hand on John’s cheek to get a better look. John flushes deeper.

“Um, I didn’t sleep. It’s a long walk from the huts to here. I’m okay though, really. That coconut really woke me up.” John says hurriedly. He wants to keep talking to Alex, not to have Alex fret over him.

“Bullshit, your dark circles are so deep they could be philosophers.” Alex murmurs. John gently pushes Alex’s hand away.

“Really, I’m okay. I’ve gone on less sleep before.” John says. Of course his own mishaps would stop the cute guy from flirting with him.

“Well, at least lie down. I don’t want you exhausted just because you had to walk all the way over to me.” Alex frets, biting his lower lip worriedly. John’s eyes follow the movement.

“I came here because I wanted to.” John objects, but he lies down against the tall coconut tree anyways. Alex follows his movements. They lie together in the cool sand, the morning sun gently washing them in the first light of day. John feels content for the first time since he had pulled Alexander out of the water. Neither of them say anything, simply enjoying the company. They are practically strangers, but it’s almost as if they had known each other for years.>

“John, can I ask you a question?” Alex breaks the silence. John hums in acknowledgement. “Why are you so curious? Your song told me all of your questions, but there was so much that it didn’t tell me,” he says quietly. Another long silence passes over them. Overhead, a sea bird sings its own song to them.

“There is so much I don’t know, and there is so much I don’t remember,” John begins. Time seems to slow down by the second. The sea bird stops singing as if it too wants to listen to John. “I haven’t seen a human in two centuries before you. What goes on off of this island is foreign to me, Alex. And it kills me that I don’t know anything about where the people are,” John reveals. Another beat of silence. “And before I became who I am today, I was on a ship. The Kingfisher. I had made the sky bleed, so they had tried to kill me. My best friend was on that ship. He helped throw me overboard, but he still died. They all still died without me there.” He adds. Alex is silent, soaking in the information that John is openly giving him.

John continues, “For two centuries I have been blind to the outside world. But, I also forgot what I already knew about that world. I just can’t seem to remember.” John looks to Alex. He has never opened up to someone so willingly before, Peggy doesn’t even know half of what he has just shared. This human is prying him open without even trying, and John isn’t sure that he cares.

Alex is looking at John with a look that he cannot describe. Everything that Alex wants to say is being told through his gaze and John is caught in it. “What can you remember?” He asks John, no louder than a whisper.

“I can’t remember the last time I remembered anything,” John replies in the same tone. The trees around them seem to close in on them, enclosing them in their own little part of the world. The crashing of the waves seems too loud in this moment.

“Will you remember this?” Alex whispers. He leans towards John, stopping to glance up at John for approval, and connects their lips. John leans into the touch. The sweet taste of coconut lingers on Alex’s lips and John has never like coconut more than he does now. His lips are soft against John’s chapped ones and he melts into the feeling. The kiss is innocent, short, and sweet, but it’s perfect enough for John to forget his curiosity for just a moment. Because for just a moment, he has all the answers he needs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What? A chapter of this story that ends nicely? Unheard of!


	8. Chapter 8

Alex pulls back first, resting his forehead against John’s. The silence settles over them once again, only now it’s different. It’s ecstatic, both wanting another taste after such a small exchange, but they know that it’s a waiting game. John wants to know more about Alex first, he wants to learn what he hasn’t learned through the kiss. Alex, on the other hand, is thinking of America and the sea. Now isn’t the time.

Alex has his eye’s locked on John’s plump and shiny lips, rubbed a bit red in the most attractive way. His eyes drift from his mouth to his eyes. Green vines intertwine with the hazel streams of sunlight. He has an entire forest in his eyes and Alex wants to explore it. John is staring back at Alex, trying to speak through his gaze, but he breaks the shared look to let his eyes wander back down to Alex’s mouth. John lets out a lusty sound, almost too quiet for Alex to hear. Fuck waiting, Alex thinks, and connects their lips again with force.

John lets out a muffled surprised sound as his back crashes into the silky sand. Alex hovers over him with his elbows besides John’s head. John breaks the kiss before it can go anywhere and turns his head to the side. He looks to Alex and is met with the familiar puppy dog look he saw when he first met him. Alex looks almost scared, like he has taken this a step too far. He moves to get off of John and opens his mouth to apologize, but John stops him before he can start.

“Where are you from?” Is all that John says from his spot on the ground. Alex furrows his eyebrows.

“The Caribbean,” He answers. Where is John going with this?

“The Caribbean,” John repeats, as if he wants to remember it. “What did you do in America once you got there?” 

Alex tucks a stray hair behind his ear. Is John annoyed with him for kissing him again and is trying to change the subject? Alex replies, “Well, I worked in the army. I worked for General Washington during the war.”

“What war? What did you do for him?” John prods. Alex is hit with realization. John wants to know him, he doesn’t want to kiss a stranger. John has questions, he always does, and now it’s his chance to give him answers.

Alex clears his throat. “I worked under General George Washington during the Revolutionary War, which was fought between Britain and America. I worked as his assistant, writing letters to congress and whatnot. I didn’t get too much shine on the battlefield, but I was given the command to a battery of artillery back in Yorktown,” Alex stops to smile at the memory. It is one of his proudest moments. John sits up, eyes glued to Alex and absorbing every drop of information.

“America won the war, of course,” Alex continues, “But before I worked in the army, my life was pretty insignificant.” John looks like he wants to protest, but let’s Alex continue. “My mother died when I was young, I never met my father, bounced between a few homes, the whole shebang. I worked in slave trade for a while.” Alex crinkles his nose at that. “I’m an abolitionist, just so you know. Totally not my first choice of work. Anyways, I eventually went to Kings College, put my smarts to work,” Alex gently pushes John back into the sand, and John falls willingly.

“I met a few people. Hercules Mulligan, Thomas Jefferson, and Aaron Burr were a few. Maybe you’ll meet them if you ever go to America, not that Jefferson makes a good conversational partner, the pompous idiot,” Alex says, moving to straddle John, “He’s quite egotistic, more so than me.” John laughs, the first sound he has made since Alex began talking. He moves his arms up to pull Alex towards him and wraps them loosely around his neck. 

“What else?” Alex continues quietly, as if speaking any louder will break the picture perfect moment, “I have a thing for guys with curly hair and pretty eyes.” John scrunches up his nose and smiles. Alex places a small kiss on the tip of John’s freckled nose. “Though I don’t have much experience with them. In fact, you’re the first guy I’ve ever kissed. Homosexuality is still very frowned upon, so forgive me if I don’t have as much experience as you.” 

John’s eyes are sparkling from the new information. “I’d be happy to teach you,” He jokes softly. Alex huffs out a small laugh. John begins the play with the hair at the nape of Alex’s neck.

“Not that I don’t have experience with women. I think I know my way around the similar anatomy,” Alex says. He hums in thought, looking at the way John’s curly locks splay across the sand haphazardly. “Oh, another thing about me is that I was born January 11th, 1755, but I told everyone that I was born in 1757. Let’s keep that one between us.” John raises his eyebrows but doesn’t ask any questions. “I also dabbled in poetry. Once I wrote a poem for a lady that she liked so much that she wore it around her neck on a string.”

John smiles, perhaps what he was passionately writing on his ship was a poem. John’s gaze drifts to Alex’s lips, watching him talk. “What were you writing on your ship, that you had lost to sea?” He whispers.

“A children’s story,” Alex replies thoughtfully, “About a fish that had swam away from his neglecting family in search of adventure, only he didn’t make it back because he had found a better family that loved him more than he could ever hope for.” John can only nod, fixated on the way Alex’s lips write out the syllables so delicately.

Alex takes notice of the way John has stopped asking for more with his eyes, and leans closer to him so that his lips hover only an inch above John’s. John sucks in a breath. “And if you were wondering,” Alex whispers, “My favorite color is purple.” John laughs and his smile is covered with Alex’s own.

This kiss is slower than the previous. Their lips dance with one another, sliding across each other in elaborate time. The time, there is no coconut, John can only taste Alex. John slides his hand up Alex’s head to gently tug the elastic out of his hair. Alex’s hair falls loose and John runs a hand through it, tugging softly. Alex moans quietly into John’s mouth and runs his teeth across John’s bottom lip. The kiss does not get any more heated, and they’re both content with that. Their gasping breaths are in time with the waves crashing against the shore.

Neither want to pull away, but eventually John’s lips become tired of the continuous dance and he breaks the kiss. Alex tucks his head into John’s neck, kissing the soft skin there. John sighs peacefully and moves his head to give Alex more to work with. Alex kisses his way to John’s collarbone with gentle drags of his lips. John only gives him the signal to stop when he can feel a bruise beginning to form. John wants Alex to keep going, to mark him like he hasn’t been marked in 200 years, but he can already hear Peggy and her sister’s prodding and poking if he came back with one. Alex gives him one final kiss before rolling off of him, melting into the cool sand.

John lays his head on Alex’s shoulder. “My favorite color is yellow, in case you were wondering,” He says. Alex’s shoulder shakes slightly with laughter and John smiles into it. It feels nice to really know the angel beside him. His angel.

John wants to continue to lie with him, but his responsibilities call to him from the huts on the other side of the island. “Alex, I need to go back now.” He voices. 

“Now?” Alex asks, almost sadly. He looks at John, begging him to stay just a moments longer in their embrace.

“Now.” John repeats. He kisses Alex’s shoulder and sits up. Alex follows his lead.

“What would they say, if you were to run into one of them and they see you with your red and swollen lips?” Alex wonders out loud, running his thumb down John’s cheek.

“They would be jealous of the lady on the other end,” John says, poking Alex playfully. Alex scrunches his nose up.

“Am I just to wait here for you until you return?” Alex asks, tilting his head to the side in his adorable manner.

“I’ll be back before you even know I’m gone,” John assures. He kisses Alex once more for the road and begins his walk back to the huts.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I haven't updated this for months, and I really have no excuse. I hope this longer chapter makes up for it!

John feels a little guilty about leaving Alex by himself again. Really, there’s only so much to be entertained by on an island in the middle of the ocean. Maybe he can visit Lany’s hut later and see if there are any leftover pastries he can bring to him, John thinks. John’s mind drifts back to the kiss he and Alex had shared, and was silently grateful that Alex hadn’t called him out if he was a bit out of practice. Two hundred years is a long time to go without intimate contact. Alex, though, he had definitely known what he was doing. He absentmindedly brings his hand up to his collarbone to rub at the spot Alex had bitten into. John purses his lips. There better not be a visible bruise there, he worries. There is already a shit storm he has to deal with and he isn’t trying to add to it.

Suddenly, a burst of laughter comes from the dense trees and John jumps in surprise. Sirens usually don’t walk this far from the huts. John stops in his tracks and he can feel the thin sand sinking underneath him. He shifts his weight. Who were the other sirens? And then, John feels as if he got punched in the gut. Alex isn’t too far from here. Alex is only a miles walk away. Fuck, John thinks, oh fuck. In a burst of motion, John runs into the trees. Maybe he can change their direction, he hopes.

John stops once the clearing is behind him. Where were they? Another burst of laughter comes from his left, followed by another siren singing a riff. John takes off in that direction. Only, apparently he didn’t have to run because he immediately slams into another siren. John yelps and falls to the sand. So much for being a graceful, mythical siren, he thinks. The siren he had ran into stumbles forward, then whips around so fast John is surprised that her neck didn’t snap. “Oh my God, John, you scared me,” The woman, Angelica, gasps with a hand over her heart. She reaches out a hand and pulls John to his feet. John winces. Angelica has always been the strongest of her sisters…or of the island.

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t know you were there, um…” John trails off, searching for an excuse as to why he was running around in the trees so far away from the huts. Angelica waves her hand dismissively and John relaxes his shoulders. He had never been so grateful that she wasn’t a nitpicker. The sand begins to sink under his weight again and he shifts awkwardly.

“So, have you found it?” She asks vaguely. John looks at her dumbly.

“The shell,” Angelica clarifies, “Peggy was here just a second ago, but she ran off just as you ran into me.” John hums in reply, hoping she would keep talking so that he could find out exactly what was going on without revealing that he didn’t know what was going on. “Can you believe it?” Angelica continues, “I mean, Lany has held some good competitions before, but this one really is a winner. I mean, if you find the shell you get a _huge_ bag of scrap fabric. Imagine all the clothes you could make. Every siren is out here looking for it!” Angelica was practically glowing with excitement. “Except for Eliza, she came down with a terrible bug this morning and...”

John completely tunes out to what she is saying. His stomach threatens to turn on him. _Every_ siren is out here? He thought it was just a few sirens, but this is a lot worse than he anticipated. How long have they all been out here? John can feel his heat beating in his throat. What if they had already found Alex? He runs his hand through his hair and winces when his finger gets caught in the hair tie he forgot he was wearing. He needs to get back to Alex.

Angelica stops talking and John snaps his attention back to her. What was she saying? Fuck, he can’t remember. All that he can think about is the fact that there are carnivorous sirens roaming this island and Alex doesn’t even know. Alex needs to hide. John needs to hide him. Angelica looks at him strangely. “Everything alright, John?”

John nods quickly. Right, Eliza, she’s sick and can’t look for the shell. “Yeah!” He says a little too enthusiastically. “Just worried for Eliza, is all. Send her my best wishes.” He says. Angelica gives him a grateful look before running off to find the shell. John runs his hands over his face and suppresses a pitiful groan. He needs to get back to Alex. John takes off in another sprint, passing a few sirens on the way. They all offered him a friendly smile and a wave, completely oblivious to his utter panic. 

A familiar flash of yellow walks across his path and he stops in his tracks. Peggy is looking at him with narrowed eyes and a sour expression. Perfect, John thinks, the last thing he needed right now was to run into her. He can’t just take off again though, not if he wants to keep his best friend.

“Peggy…” He starts, “Listen, I know you’re pissed at me. You have every right to be but just hear me out…” He trails of when he notices Peggy’s fiery eyes moving from his face to his collarbone. Fuck, John thinks again. This day is turning into one huge cosmic-fuck-you.

“What’s that?” Peggy ask quietly, but her tone is dripping with bitterness. John tries to look down at his collarbone, but only succeeds in giving himself a fabulous double chin. “Is that a…hickey?” She snaps. John winces. “Who the fuck are you, John Laurens? It’s like I don’t even know you anymore! Who the hell are you sleeping with?” Peggy yells. John looks around in a panic. “Is it the same siren who convinced you that killing was an okay thing to do, or did you figure that out on your own?” Peggy continues venomously.

John really does think he is going to spew coconut milk everywhere at this point. He shushes her and tries to pull her into a more densely covered area. Peggy struggles out of his grasp with a disgusted look on her face. “What? Are you trying to get another notch in your bedpost? I’m not interested.” She hisses.

“Please,” John whispers desperately, and it must have shown in his tone because Peggy’s expression immediately softens. John’s mind is racing. Alex, shell, Peggy, Alex, coconut milk, shell, Alex. “Just, please,” he says. Peggy furrows her eyebrows. She isn’t smiling, but she lets John pull her into a covered area. “Just hear me out.” John whispers. Peggy crosses her arms defensively, but doesn’t object.

John quickly looks around for any other sirens in hearing distance. He wonders if Alex can hear them. “I need to make this fast,” He says in a low tone, “I never killed anyone. I know this is hard to believe, I get it, but please just listen to me.” Peggy looks at him suspiciously and uncrosses her arms. “There was a man,” John continues in the same tone, if not quieter, “And I almost did kill him. Despite what you think, I’m really not proud of it.” John thinks of Alex and how he had been so fixated on John when they were in the ocean. It really doesn’t help how nauseous he is feeling. In front of him, Peggy is shifting her weight so that she does not fall through the particularly thin patch of sand they are standing on.

“I didn’t kill him,” John says, “But he never made it back to his ship, either. He’s here, and I need to get back to him before someone else finds him first,” John says. He is spilling out the secret before he can even comprehend what he is saying. His head is too cloudy and his eyes too watery to think straight. He knows he can trust Peggy, though. He hopes he can. Peggy gasps loudly and quickly covers her mouth with her hand. “Please, don’t tell anyone. Please. He doesn’t want to hurt us, and I don’t want to hurt him. I just need to get back to him. He needs to hide.” He whispers quickly. Another siren passes their hiding spot and the two freeze until they hear the footsteps disappear.

“But, how?” Is all that Peggy says. John feels like singing in relief. His best friend loves humanity too much for her own good. Plus, he has his best friend back.

“I don’t know. He broke free from the sirens way. I guess I wasn’t singing strongly enough.” John replies. No, he knows he wasn’t singing strongly enough. Alex’s eyes made him weak and he knows it. He bites his lip worriedly. “I need to go. Could you distract the others somehow? Lead them back to the camps, maybe?” John pleads more than asks.

“No,” Peggy says. John feels his heart sink. Coconut milk. “Because I’m coming with you.” Peggy crosses her arms again, ready to put up a fight if need be. “I want to meet this human that you are _obviously_ head over heels for.” John blushes a deep red color and Peggy smirks. “What, you think I wouldn’t have been able to guess with that huge hickey your gay ass is sporting?” She playfully pokes John’s shoulder. John makes a face at her. It felt good to have his best friend back, but he couldn’t celebrate just yet. Alex is still out there.

“Fine, you can come. We have to hurry.” He says quickly. John jumps to the side just as the sand beneath him gives out into water. Damn, this thin ground. He pulls Peggy out of the shadows and breaks into a sprint. He doesn’t look behind him to see if she is following, but her heavy footfalls assure him that she is. They run through the trees, carefully avoiding the sirens searching under rocks and in the bushes for the shell. Occasionally, they pass another sprinting siren who will wave at them in encouragement.

The wind is biting at his face and neck and he can feel his legs beginning to give out. Just a little further, he tells himself. He turns his head to look at Peggy. She looks just as exhausted with a flush coating her cheeks and her breaths heavy. She has a look of determination on her face that gives John the extra strength he needed to keep going, though. The day should’ve been bright, considering that it is still fairly early in the morning, but a thick layer of clouds covers the sky. It’s fitting, John thinks.

John recognizes some familiar scenery and picks up the pace. He’s almost there. Another siren runs up to them and matches their pace. “Keeping fit while searching, I see. I like it,” She says, not so subtly eyeing John’s sweat slicked chest. John just nods in reply, hoping that she would leave them if he doesn’t start a conversation. They are too close to Alex for her to be here. “You know, I thought I saw the shell a bit back. Maybe you could help me find it again?” She says in a suggestive tone. She rakes her eyes down John’s body. Jesus Christ, John thinks, please go away. He doesn’t answer her, but apparently she doesn’t take the hint since she keeps running beside them. John stops running and Peggy stops a few feet in front of him, looking at him with a raised eyebrow. 

“Sure, why not. Why don’t I meet you back over there?” He tells her breathlessly. The girl giggles and turns away from him. She walks away with a swing of her hips and John rolls her eyes. He doesn’t have time for this, he needs to get to Alex. John turns back to Peggy and makes a motion to keep going. They break into another sprint, matching their paces with each other. John thinks he hears a scream from somewhere in the forest, but he knows it’s just his worry getting the better of him. Still, his stomach churns.

Peggy and John pass the empty coconuts from this morning, but there is no sign of Alex. He slows down his pace, though. Alex can’t be far. John regresses into a jog and Peggy does the same. “Is he here?” She asks him.

“He should be,” John replies. He wants to call out Alex’s name, but he knows better than to attract attention right now. They keep moving and the sand becomes dangerously thin, worn down by years of harsh wind. They keep their pace quick and their steps light to avoid sinking below the sand. Another coconut shell lays beneath a tree, but this one is half full. John’s heart skips a beat. Alex.

John stops his jogging to start walking, and Peggy does the same. She is itching with nerves at the thought of meeting a human. Will he judge her, for her years of relentless killing? Or will he understand that she cannot help what she is? “Alex?” John calls out timidly.

“John?” A voice replies from behind a group of trees. “I thought I heard someone, but I couldn’t be sure, but I hid anyways” the voice continues. Alex steps out from his hiding spot, looking at a dark purple flower in his hands. John feels relief rush through his system. He quickly moves towards Alex and gently moves him away from where his feet were sinking into the sand.

“You’re okay, oh my God, I was so worried.” John says quietly. Alex looks up from the flower and John gives him a quick kiss.

“Yeah, I’m okay? Are you okay?” Alex says slowly, truly confused for the first time since he got here. “What’s going on?” He puts his hand on John’s face like he is looking for injuries. John moves Alex again as they sink into the sand.

“There’s sirens everywhere. You need to hide.” John says, his feeling of panic returning. Alex looks over John’s shoulder worriedly, and freezes when he sees Peggy.

“John,” He whispers, completely tense, “Behind you.” John turns around, freeing his feet from the sand. Alex doesn’t move.

“It’s okay, Alex. This is my friend, she isn’t going to hurt you.” John reassures him. Peggy waves to him with a kind smile, but her nerves are obvious (though completely different than the ones Alex is feeling). She moves slightly to free herself from the thin sand. Still, Alex does not move.

Alex nods timidly and waves back, not completely trusting her in this moment of panic. John beckons Peggy to come closer. “Okay, I’m not sure where to hide you yet but I’m sure we can find-“John is cut off by a panicked yell from behind him. John spins around in fear, has another siren found them? He instinctively moves to grab Alex. Only, there is no one there to grab. Where Alex once stood now lays a wide hole in the thin sand, filled with dark black water. John freezes in shock, only snapping out of it when Peggy screams at him to. John swears like the sailor he used to be and tugs at his hair. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Alex is under the island. Before Peggy can stop him, John jumps down the hole and into the dark ocean.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oops


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit unrelated, but I'm planning on starting an au based around witchcraft and "magical rights protesters" and whatnot, and I was wondering if y'all would prefer it to be Jamilton or Lams? :~)

John’s siren instincts only take milliseconds to tune in to his surroundings. When he had first hit the ocean floor two hundred years ago, he was completely blinded by the water and muted by his own lungs. But now, his senses have been evolved into the killing machine he is supposed to be. John swims with wide strokes into to abyss, looking for any sign of Alexander. His head is pounding from his own panic. This is his fault. He knew how dangerously thin this side of the island is and he still had Alexander stay there. And now, he is under the blue.

John spins around as fast as he can under the ocean’s pressure, but he sees no sign of Alexander. He sees no sign of those inky irises or his raven hair. John feels as if the water is closing in on him and causing his ribs to collapse. Why, John wonders, does his curiosity drive him into such idiotic things, such as caring so much for a human he has barely met? Is it because of his curiosity for humans? Or, is it because Alexander can answer his curiosities? John tries to focus. He needs to focus. Across from him, a sea snake makes a threatening motion. John swats the snake away, hissing in a breath at the bite it delivered. Focus, focus.

John squints through the murky waters. The water is cold on his skin and he suppresses a shiver. Years pass before John feels the motion in the water next to him. Alexander. John bolts to the sinking figure. Alexander’s skin is porcelain and John is scared that he might break him. His hair is floating around him in ghostly waves. The scene reminds John of the day that the sirens way had had Alexander trapped under the waves with John’s hand around his throat and _no_. Not his angel. He has to save his angel.

John reaches out and grabs Alexander by the underarms and begins to swim upwards. The moment seems surreal. He grips Alexander tighter as another moment of that day flashes before him. Alexander is deadweight and his is head lolling delicately against John’s chest. John wonders if he can hear how fast his heart is beating. The sea snake twists around the two. Above him, John can see the circle of light from the hole in the island. The contrast burns his siren-sensitive eyes. He swims faster, steadier.

It’s only when he is no more than a foot away from the surface that he remembers the other sirens. The sirens who have no doubt reached this area by now, looking for that damned shell. He can’t cause any commotion; He can’t cause a scene. It’s his fault that Alexander is under the island and by God will it be his fault that he makes it back above it. He holds Alexander closer as they reach the small opening. He feels cold against him. John feels his heart strings tearing. They reach the opening and John skillfully slips onto the surface, then reaches to pull Alexander out. He has Alexander’s head out of the water when he hears a shrilly voice call,

“What are you doing?”

John whips his head around, still holding Alexander in the water but refusing the let his head slip or show. It’s that same siren who had tried to get into bed with him earlier. Great. He looks up at Peggy, who had been perched at the edge of the hole with worry-filled eyes, with a pleading look. Luckily, she takes the hint.

“Oh my god, I think I see the shell!” Peggy cries with a faux look of shock. The other siren jumps in excitement and demands that Peggy shows her where. Peggy throws John one last concerned look before scampering off in the other direction, the other siren on her tail. John sighs, but he doesn’t know If he does in relief or frustration. Quickly, John pulls Alexander out of the water and onto the wet sand. His arms are trembling. He has half the mind to pull Alexander away from the thinned out ground. Alexander still does not move but John is shaking enough for the both of them. Focus, he tells himself, focus. The wind nips at his cold-bitten skin. He should have never left Alexander here. He should have at least tried to take him back to his ship. Focus, focus. The angel.

In a burst of motion, John reaches down to pick up Alexander bridal style. The emptiness on Alexander’s face is only too familiar. Still, John feels as if he is the human. John feels nauseous again. Focus. John begins to run as fast as his trembling legs can take him. Alexander is pressed snugly against his chest, and his head is bumping delicately against John’s chest at every dip in the road. John doesn’t know where he is running to, but he knows he can’t stop. If one siren has already reached this area, the others couldn’t be lagging too far behind. The wind whispers ominously in his ears. Above him, the clouds dance dangerously.

His arms begin to ache from the weight of carrying Alexander. He is still cold in his arms. Focus, focus. He needs to find a hiding spot. Suddenly, Alexander gasps out in his arms and John holds him closer as he lets out the water in his stomach onto him. He’s alive, but he’s cold. His fingertips are like tiny icicles. Alexander looks up at him urgently, his once knowledgeable irises now laced with exhaustion and confusion. John wants to tell him that it’s okay, but his lungs are threatening to burst and his heart is trying to make its way up his throat. The tiny icicles brush against John’s chest. They stab him. Focus. A hiding spot.

There. John sees an opening to a formation of rocks that looks suspiciously like a cave. He has to take a chance. He picks up the pace, his weak legs pleading with him to stop. A small furry creature runs across his path and John nearly trips over it. Alexander tightens his grip around John’s neck, pricking him with the icicles. Focus. The other sirens could already be here. Where’s Peggy? _Focus_.

John kicks through the vines covering the opening of the cave. They make a disgusting slick sound and Alexander crinkles his nose. Immediately, they are enclosed with the intense smell of iron and rot. John holds back a gag, but Alexander makes no effort to as he shoves his face into John’s chest, dry heaving weakly. John just holds him closer. Cautiously, he enters the cave. The darkness is almost blinding, but his siren senses allow him to see. The air is moist and breathing it in makes him feel sickly. Still, they need a hiding spot, and this is the best he can do. He walks further into the black and sets Alexander down carefully against a wall. Alexander begins to dry heave again from the smell covering them like a hot towel. “John,” He musters out weakly.

John moves to sit next to him. His legs thank him for the break. “I’m right here,” He whispers, though he doesn’t know why he is whispering. They are far back enough in the cave to not attract any sirens. Alexander crumbles against him like a pastry. His lungs are fighting the putrid air and his body can’t support him. John wraps his arms around him protectively. “I’m right here,” he repeats. They sit in silence; the kind of silence that you hear when a rabbit is hiding from a fox. A rat scurries across the ground and John follows it with his eyes, and nearly gasps at what he sees. He quickly shuts his mouth lest he notify Alexander of the discovery.

Thank God Alexander can’t see in the darkness, John thinks. His stomach turns at the sight before him. Bodies upon bodies upon bones upon blood. A junk pile. The remains vary from half eaten to stripped clean. It’s the leftovers from all of their feasts, after every hunt. He looks away, unable to stand the sight. John holds Alexander closer and presses a kiss to the top of his head. Alexander hums. 

John has a sudden thought. “When I find a way to get you to America-“

“If,” Alexander cuts him off, “If I get to America,”

John furrows his eyebrows. “ _When_ you get to America, you should write another children’s story. Like the one you were writing on your ship. But about mermaids, you know? Since you’ve been spending so much time around the water. I’ve met a few mermaids, they’re very nice. I bet you could write a good story.” 

John feels Alexander turn to look up at him, even though he can’t see John in the dark. “I’d rather write one about sirens,” He says as loudly as his brittle throat will let him.

John scoffs, “Mermaids are much nicer.”

Alexander playfully pokes John’s stomach. “That doesn’t meant that they’re more interesting,” He rasps out. John pokes him back. They begin to bounce plots off one another to pass the time. But, it’s not long before Alexander begins to gag again.

“What in Heaven’s name is that stench?” He groans and curls up against John. John can feel the hot heat from Alexander’s breath against him. It doesn’t feel like an icicle. John just kisses the top of his head again in reply. Alexander seems content with it. Together, in the dripping cave of carnage they wait out the storm of sirens on the outside.


End file.
